Cousin Wolf Sings

Her all-night melody blushes

like directions for new lovers

             who are lost.

Last night all she held was a hum

             that ran away.

She now stretches words in our broken-down car

somewhere on Valley View

between Orphaned Lane

              and the dead end,

about hidden roads and streets

of homes for all the abandoned.

I study the map when she falls from crescendo.

Flashlight held by my teeth,

her voice needs

both hands to trace.

She leads me down paths disappearing

into blue lines holding

             imaginary rivers,

blacking in thin creases

and folds or contoured lines.

She drones about the water. I find the blue again.

My hand pressed against

                                                the faded shore.